Boundaries
by ArtandLies
Summary: Harry and Hermione attempt to redraw the boundaries of their lives after Ron leaves. Set during and after the dance scene in The Deathly Hallows: Part 1.


She looked at his hand warily, took it for a peace offering that she was not entirely certain she was ready to accept. It wasn't his peace to make. And yet, there it was: Harry's hand, held out to her, as unchanging and inevitable as lines inked onto a map.

Harry Potter had truly been the cartographer of her life. Hermione's territories and districts had been arbitrarily etched by a man-child with no map of his own. Decisions heaped upon him and responsibilities beyond his realm of understanding often forced his hand. The simple fact of it, so often visited upon them, no longer incensed her; Hermione had long since abdicated her own needs in lieu of Harry's and the greater good.

Harry created the map of her world, but Ron served as the compass rose. Oh, to be sure, Hermione had no illusions about Ron's lack of consistency or moral guidance. Ron's purposes often ran perpendicular to Harry's and Hermione's, crossing occasionally, but only when they would benefit Ron himself. Ron insisted upon drawing his own map, no matter the repercussions. Even so, he gave Harry direction – gave Harry a friendship that, while unpredictable, ran deep and strong. Harry's direction was her direction, and so Ron became a part of her map as well.

Their trio presented a scale for Hermione's world. By it she measured exactly how far she could travel – how far they could go before one of them snapped in this grail-like search for the horcruxes.

As it turned out, her calculations were wrong.

Ron had defected in a whirlwind of hurt and surprise, shattering what remained of her confidence. She knew that the tattered scarf tied round a tree would do nothing to bring him back to them. Her map was useless and illegible. She was without direction. The both of them were.

Malham Cove offered little respite from the doldrums of ignorance. The sweeping landscapes of North Yorkshire set her on edge. On occasion, while Harry took watch, Hermione would sit in the tent and listen to the radio, expecting the worst. When Ron's name was once again absent from the list of the dead and the missing, Hermione experienced a brief bout of relief, which was subsequently swallowed up by the pressing urgency of waiting for enlightenment.

Harry said nothing as he pulled her from her melancholy perch on the step. He gently unclasped the chain of the horcrux and tossed it away from them both; they needed no words to communicate that tonight was not a night for albatrosses around either of their necks. Tonight, Hermione understood as he grasped both of her hands and pulled her to the center of the tent, tonight was a night to redraw boundaries. Tonight was a night to reestablish topography that no longer made sense to her. Tonight was a night to ignore the lack of a compass and embrace what little comfort remained in their lives.

She couldn't help but smile at the earnestness radiating from Harry's face as he twisted into an awkward two-step. It was absurd that they should dance at such a time as this, really. But God help her, Hermione could not deny that face. She let him twirl her about the tent, laughed with him and helped him push the light of the moment to the edges of their world.

And when Harry finally gathered her against him, Hermione allowed her smile to falter and the weight of the moment to press down on her once again. They were children: lost, lonely children spreading their ruined map on the table in the hopes that something new and miraculous would reveal itself. She drew away from him.

The direction that they found in each others' arms did not point towards love, though Hermione loved Harry deeply; no, the compass provided by their hurried intimacy pointed only to loss and hardship. And yet, the circle of his arms redrew the boundaries of countries lost to her. The newly discovered regions of his skin weren't without meaning. The sharp line of his jaw was a familiar dominion. Without a compass, she had only her wits to guide her, and only Harry to lead the way as best he could, in the only way he knew how.

The desperate clutch of her hands on his back clawed treatises of peace. They could recreate the map. Lost though they were, they would find their way. Eventually, they would find their way.


End file.
